


California Dreamin'

by 2davidbeckham3



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types, Men's Football RPF
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Possibly Pre-Slash, vague cameos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 09:11:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16971783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2davidbeckham3/pseuds/2davidbeckham3
Summary: The first thing David said when he came to was“You’re not Spider-Man.”





	California Dreamin'

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings: A Character gets shot (Not a Footballer) and there's a description of the wound, canon typical violence when it comes to Deadpool - mentions of shooting & stabbing, implied drugging of a character.
> 
> Title Song: [California Dreamin' - The Mamas and the Papas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qhZULM69DIw)
> 
> Inspiration: [Deadpool 2 Trailer: David Beckham meets Deadpool](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gnd7WfYAVmw)
> 
> I watched _Deadpool 2_ and _Oceans 8_ on the same plane ride, so, have this.

The first thing David said when he came to was _“You’re not Spider-Man.”_

Granted, the red blur somersaulting in front of him could have been Spider-Man, but, from what David could see through his drug-induced haze, the lack of blue in their outfit and the swords in their hands were a dead give-away.

 

And the copious amount of blood splattered on the previously pristine ivory tablecloths.

 

“Well, of course I’m not Spider-Man,” the figure in red called out before elbowing what looked like a waiter – a waiter with a _rifle_ – in the face. David would have thought that he was hallucinating if it wasn’t for the distinct clatter of the weapon falling onto the hardwood floor. The not-a-waiter at the, hopefully, a superhero's – or at least someone that didn’t drug everybody at the gala – feet let out a faint groan.

 

Satisfied that the waiter wouldn’t get up, the man in red began talking again. “Do you see webs shooting out of my— _Oh my god."_ He froze. “You’re David Beckham.”

 

Even with the world going in and out of focus, David could make out the absence of a Spider on the man’s chest. Distantly, David knew he shouldn’t have listened to Thierry’s stories about a rumored friendly neighborhood hero – it was New York, after all, if you had a hankering to see people walk around in masks, all you had to do was walk around 42nd Street – but the current scene in front of him made it hard to deny the possibility of the existence of Queens' aforementioned resident web-slinger.

 

Of course, instead of asking if there were more superheroes roving around the city, all David replied, “You’re still not Spider-Man.” Not his finest moment.

 

“No,” the mystery-man in red said, stepped towards to where David was still tied to his chair – no wonder is wrists burned. “My name’s Deadpool.” There were a lot of unconscious bodies in Deadpool’s path. Hopefully Deadpool was coming over to untie him. _“I’m—”_

The rest of Deadpool’s sentence was drowned out by the sound of a loud bang.

 

David felt blood splatter onto his cheek.

 

“ _GOD DAMN IT!”_ Deadpool roared. David could barely make out a 5p-sized hole on the right side of Deadpool’s chest before he whirled around to face his new adversary.

 

 David’s stomach turned, making a valiant effort to bring this morning’s breakfast back front and center.

 

“Didn’t anybody teach you not to interrupt two people while they’re talking?” Deadpool punctuated his statement by pulling one of his swords from the shoulder of another unconscious member of the fake waitstaff. " _It’s rude._ " 

 

Deadpool barely finished speaking before another bang echoed throughout the room before the room descended into darkness. By the looks of it, the shot hit one of the lights. The sound of fighting filled the air while the shadows on the floor played out the struggle.

 

The loud bang was a gunshot.

 

An evil, gun-slinging waiter shot Deadpool.

 

Why did they have to host this gala in New York City, again?

 

David really missed California.

 

David felt his whole world tilt on his axis, the stained hardwood floor filling his line of vision.

 

“Woah, woah. Hey, there buddy.”

 

_I'd be safe and warm_

 

The collision never came, instead, steady arms grabbed his shoulders and sat him up straight with a slight scrape of his chair.

 

Up close, the blank white stare was a lot more unnerving than David first realized. “Deadpool,” he choked out, forcing his tongue to cooperate.

 

_If I was in L.A._

 

“That’s me,” Deadpool responded cheerfully, before turning his attention to something behind David’s back. After a moment, David’s wrists stopped burning.

 

He sagged forwards onto Deadpool’s shoulder. While he worried evil waitstaff blood would stain his suit, there was a more pressing question he felt he had to ask. “Deadpool,” David repeated, trying to put more urgency in his voice, even though he felt more tongue tied. The masked-man didn’t respond. It took him a while to register that Deadpool was speaking; too late did he remember what the supposed superhero did to the last person that interrupted him. _“Deadpool?”_

_California dreamin'_

“Yes, David?”

David hoped he wasn’t imagining the concern in Deadpool’s voice.

 

“Why are you singing?” He asked, then promptly passed out.

_On such a winter's day._

 

The next time David came to, he wasn't sitting in an uncomfortable seat anymore.

 

There was a beeping coming from somewhere, but he didn’t have enough time to process where he is before he’s slipping into back into unconsciousness.

 

_“I’m sorry sir, only family can visit right now. And, by the looks of it, you should be in bed.”_

 

_“I’m his frie- Uh, I know him! I was his teammate.”_

_“I’m sorry sir—”_

_“Could you at least tell me how he’s doing? My roommate in 232 is driving me up the wall.”_

The next time David opened his eyes, his room is dark. And, oddly, a breeze ruffled the fabric around his legs.

 

“Wade. _Wade!_ ” An unfamiliar voice stage whispered. “We shouldn’t be here.”

 

David’s brain felt fuzzy, but adrenaline still rushed through his veins, the tell-tale the beeping of the heart monitor betraying his distress.

 

“Deal with it, we’re already here.” Thankfully, David recognized that voice, he shut his eyes with a sigh. “And close the window, will ya? There’s a draft. It’s bothering him.”

 

The stranger complied with a reluctant grumble and the window shuts with a barely audible hiss.

 

He should thank Deadpool for saving his life, but opening his eyes again was harder than he thought.  

 

Something scraped on the floor before it was followed by barely audible footsteps.

 

David could feel sleep creeping up on him again.

 

“Why are we here, anyways?” The stranger piped up.

 

“Because it’s David Beckham,” Deadpool replied, sounding closer to his bed. “It’s my fault he’s here, anyways.”

 

The stranger scoffed. “You put him here because you saved him. That doesn’t explain why you had to bring that.”

 

“Yeah,” Deadpool responded, and it sounded like he was standing over David’s shoulder. _“Well—”_

 

His heart-monitor, David realized, wasn’t as easy to ignore when it felt like someone kicked his head a thousand boots at his head.

 

“Good morning, Mr. Beckham.” That didn’t sound like Deadpool, a fact David confirmed when he opened his eyes to see a nurse standing over him with a clipboard in her hand. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Like I have a hangover,” David confessed. His stomach rumbled. “Mostly,” he amended. “I’m hungry.”

 

“That’s a good sign,” the nurse – Claire, from what he could see on her ID badge – smiled. Your friends have been worried.” She added, gesturing to a spot over his left shoulder. “I’ll go tell the Doctor that you’re awake.”

 

Initially, David was overcome with a wave of gratitude at the sight, then he just had to laugh.

 

It wasn’t hard to figure out which arrangement was from Deadpool. Nearly floating off the table with the amount of a balloons tied to them were multiple teddy bears tied together with cards and chocolates in their hands. In the middle was a teddy bear clearly not from the hospital’s gift shop. Dressed up in a Spider-Man costume hastily scribbled in with a black marker into something akin to Deadpool’s suit, the bear had a piece of paper in its hands.

 

 **_CALL ME!_ ** **_♡♡♡_ **

**_XXX-XXXX_ **

**Author's Note:**

> me: *shuffles back into Football RPF with this*  
> Football RPF readers: wtf. I_don't_want_these.jpeg
> 
> -Spot the cameos!  
> -Apologies for the slight NYC bashing, I wrote this with the California Dreamin' joke in mind.


End file.
